


hands up (gimme your heart)

by shier



Series: hands all over [2]
Category: iKON (Kpop)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, M/M, wow thats an actual tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 08:14:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10302002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shier/pseuds/shier
Summary: Things will be fine. Bobby will make sure it’s fine; he’s not ready to let go of Junhoe yet.





	

They’ve been fighting so much lately that something’s gotta give. It’s different, fighting with someone like Junhoe, versus someone like Hanbin. With Hanbin, Bobby could afford screaming arguments because he _knew_ Hanbin was going to give as hard as he’s got, because they both cared about their friendship and they knew their friendship wasn’t going anywhere. With Junhoe? There used to be a time where they had arguments in hushed whispers, as if they were scared the neighbours might hear that their tentative relationship wasn’t working out. But now all Bobby is getting is steely silence and a grunt or two, as if Junhoe doesn’t really give two shits about where they end up.

So in place of raging arguments, Bobby shuts his mouth and swallows his pride. Better to not fight than have a non-fight, which leaves them with a different sort of disagreement altogether: the stale kind, the lukewarm kind, the kind that makes something uncomfortable settle under Bobby’s skin.

“What happened to us?” Bobby wants to ask, and he’s scared that the question he should be asking instead is _what happened to you_?

“If I get dumped,” Bobby tells Hanbin one time, when they’re smash drunk and sprawled across Hanbin’s couch. “Will you date me instead?”

“Gross,” comes Hanbin’s resounding and immediate answer, but then he pats Bobby’s hip and adds a softer, “Sure.”

Bobby finds himself packed away in Junhoe’s car later that night, dimly aware that Hanbin, the traitor, had gone ahead and called Junhoe to bundle him up and take him home. Junhoe looks pretty like that, profiled under the street lights speeding by. His face flashes gold and red and green and Bobby swallows, reaching out to take Junhoe’s hand in his. Junhoe glances over at him and squeezes his palm, but says nothing.

 

 

 

 

/

 

 

After he’d consumed enough painkillers to function, Bobby checks Junhoe’s calendar and scrounges up the remainder of his savings to buy them both round tickets to Japan. The last time he’d done this had been right after his graduation ceremony, when he’d gotten them both tickets to Jeju Island and booked them into a resort that overlooked the sea. It wasn’t much, but Junhoe had spent so much time grinning at him that Bobby felt drunk even without ingesting any of the contents of the mini-fridge. They didn’t leave the room as much as they should’ve for Bobby’s virgin trip to Jeju Island, but it’s not like Bobby was gonna complain.

So the idea of plane tickets to Japan didn’t seem like a bad one…until he brings it up with Junhoe.

“Why?” Junhoe asks, as straightforward as ever. It stings more than Bobby had anticipated it to; he’d expected Junhoe to exude some form of gratitude that would eventually lead to blowjobs, but he’d have settled for an easy _yes_ or a _gotta check my schedule_. Anything but this.

“Because we haven’t been spending time together,” Bobby says, trying not to sound like the _What To Do When You Don’t Get Along With Your Significant Other_ article he’d read a few weeks earlier. “And we should, right?”

“And you did it _without_ asking me?” Junhoe’s voice drips with derision and this time, Bobby does let the sting find a home in his chest.

“I checked your calendar,” Bobby argues, trying not to let his temper rise. Junhoe’s right: this kinda thing was a joint decision, not something that Bobby could just drop on Junhoe out of the blue. But hadn’t Junhoe been the one to say that he loved ( _loved_?) Bobby for his spontaneity? “Your company has the day off that Thursday, and Jiho-hyung—“

“Are you that close to him?”

 _Jiho-hyung_ ,” Bobby repeats, overriding Junhoe’s question entirely, “said he could cover for you on Friday, whatever it is. So. Please? I can’t refund those tickets anymore, c’mon.” Bobby slaps his hands together, as if in prayer, and Junhoe stares at him. He’s so used to Junhoe’s facial acrobatics that it’s frightening when he doesn’t have that as a crutch to decipher what Junhoe’s thinking. _What do you want me to say?_ Bobby wants to ask him, but this is a game of chicken and Bobby can’t afford to lose.

“Okay,” Junhoe says, though it’s clear that _okay_ stands for  _I don’t like this_. A spark of anger flares in Bobby’s chest, hot and looking for some way _out_. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Aren’t you going to ask what we’re gonna do there?”

“I’m sure you have it planned,” Junhoe says, already divesting himself of his pants. “Why bother asking me, right?”

 

 

 

 

/

 

 

It’s weird, some days Bobby feels like Junhoe’s on the cusp of telling him he’s had enough. They didn’t have enough things in common: Junhoe off jet-setting on company trips and hanging out at events where they had cheese and wine, and Bobby off getting shit-faced in someone else’s apartment.

The one and only time Bobby had turned up at one of Junhoe’s dinner and dances, Junhoe’s colleagues had side-eyed him so much that he made up excuses to save himself from showing up the next time, and then the next, and the next, until Junhoe stopped asking him entirely. Hwasa seemed to hang off Junhoe’s arm far more easily anyway. (Bobby had seen them once; he’d come over after a shift and caught Hwasa dropping Junhoe off. She’d had a hand on Junhoe’s forearm and Junhoe had laughed with his head thrown back. It had looked so unbelievably intimate that something hot and ugly had reared in Bobby’s chest. But he’d _chosen this_ , hadn’t he?)

He wonders if Junhoe would be better off with Hwasa now, if Junhoe would be less surly if it was Hwasa here instead of Bobby. He wants to take Junhoe’s hand as they drag their luggage into the airport, but for whatever reason, he doesn’t think he should. So instead, they stand in the queue for immigration in silence, Junhoe frowning down at his phone, and Bobby wishing he had something to talk about to his own boyfriend.

Making that wish turns out to be a mistake, because the second they step up to the counter, Bobby can’t find his passport.

“Sorry,” he tells the lady at the counter, with the too-polite smile and the too-judgemental eyes, digging around in his knapsack futilely as Junhoe watches him impassively. _Hwasa wouldn’t lose her passport_ , Bobby thinks, offhandedly. “I don’t know where it is—“

“Did you pack it?” Junhoe asks, and Bobby wants to shout at him _of course I did_. It was one of the last things Bobby had checked before he left the apartment but it probably wouldn’t help if Bobby devolved into an argument right there and then.

“If you can’t find it, perhaps you should join the line again,” the lady suggests cordially, nodding at the ever-growing queue behind them. Bobby’s about to protest when Junhoe sighs, loudly, dramatically, and grabs the handle of Bobby’s luggage to tug it away. Bobby finds his passport two seconds later, tucked deep into the pocket of his folded jacket.

“Maybe if you tried being more organised,” Junhoe says, attention already returning to his phone, “we wouldn’t be in the back of this long ass queue.”

“Do you not want to be here?” Bobby asks, even though he knows he shouldn’t. He knows it’s his fault. He knows he _can’t_. “Because you could’ve said _no_ the first time I asked.” Junhoe’s mouth presses into a thin line and Bobby can see his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“And what, you just bring someone else along for the ride?” Junhoe asks. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

 _What_ doesn’t matter?” Bobby cries, annoyed, but Junhoe only shakes his head and turns to glare daggers at the kid from the family in front of them who’s been staring at them the entire time.

 

 

 

 

/

 

 

They check into the hotel without event, so much so that they hadn’t even spoken a word to each other the entire time except for the occasional _please tell me you printed the check-in info_. Bobby hadn’t even deigned that with a reply; his sudden inspiration to fly to Japan had flat-lined entirely, and he can’t remember why he’s even _trying_. Not when it seems like this is torture to Junhoe.

Bobby’s showering when he hears the toilet door swing open and he freezes, half expecting Junhoe to step into the shower with him, and then realises that he doesn’t really know how to react to that. Not with this recent Junhoe. But Junhoe doesn’t—Bobby’s wishful fucking thinking—and only stops at the sink to brush his teeth. Bobby’s stomach bottoms out, because although he hadn’t planned on being the one to break the ice between them, he hadn’t expected Junhoe to just turn in and _sleep_.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Bobby tells him the second he steps out of the shower. “It’s a nice night and I—“

“I’m tired,” Junhoe says first, not even bothering to look up at Bobby. He presses a button on the TV remote and the screen bursts into life, tuned to a noisy coverage of some festival happening elsewhere in Tokyo. “Can’t we just go to sleep?”

“Junhoe,” Bobby says. He doesn’t even know what he wants: to fight? To fuck? How does he get back to the _before_ if he doesn’t know what had happened to make it the past tense? “Please? They have a pretty pool.”

Junhoe scoffs, the sound of it so familiar that Bobby holds out hope. “You just showered.”

“I’m not gonna swim. Let’s just go look at some palm trees or something.”

Junhoe doesn’t respond, but he does push himself up with an exaggerated _if-I-must_ sigh. And if Bobby lets himself, he can pretend that it’s playful instead of long-suffering.

 

The night air is crisp and cool, and the hotel buzzed with the sort of quiet activity that made Bobby feel more at ease than he ever had in Korea. It felt like now he really had Junhoe to himself, to iron out whatever kinks they had between them. With a surge of courage, he slides his palm against Junhoe’s, threading their fingers together. Things will be fine. Bobby will make _sure_ it’s fine; he’s not ready to let go of Junhoe yet.

“We’re good, right?” Bobby asks, buoyed by a sudden sense of hopefulness. Junhoe had been tapping a little rhythm against the curve of Bobby’s palm, and that alone reminded him of the times Junhoe had given him the exclusive first listen of whatever he’d been working on, as if Bobby’s opinion actually _mattered_.

Junhoe watches him warily, like Bobby had just asked him a trick question, but couldn’t figure out _what_ or _why_. The genial feeling that had blanketed Bobby slowly started to dissipate. He could feel the fight coming, as sure as dark clouds in the sky meant a fucking thunderstorm was going to ruin his walk home.

“Yeah,” Junhoe says, the kind he says just to avoid fighting. But Bobby’s been putting off fighting for so long that he lets his anger rise up to his chest and he stares Junhoe down.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we’re alright,” Junhoe repeats, though this time with a tone of derision, as if to suggest that Bobby’s stupid for not getting the point.

“So why have you been acting like you don’t care about this?” Bobby says, gesturing between them both.

That shuts Junhoe up immediately. His lips press into a thin line and he drops Bobby’s hand in favour of crossing his arms over his chest. He looks like he’s debating yelling his head off, but then just sighs and turns to stalk off.

“Wait,” Bobby says, grabbing Junhoe by the arm. The pool lights his face up in a way that’s eerie, shifts and morphs his expression until Bobby can barely recognise him. It’s a feeling of asphyxiation; Bobby feels like something’s constricting his chest, like he can’t _breathe_. “Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” Junhoe questions. “That I think we shouldn’t have gone on this trip in the first place?”

“That would’ve been nice,” Bobby answers, matching Junhoe’s sarcastic tone, “you know, before we had to spend all this time together.”

 _You_ booked the tickets,” Junhoe points out, rolling his eyes up at the sky like he can’t believe this conversation is happening. “What, am I supposed to just ask you to get a refund? One more strike against me, right?”

“What the hell are you on about?”

“If you were thinking of this trip as a nice way to round things up, you’re fucking _wrong_ ,” Junhoe spits out, his anger almost palpable in the cool air around him. Bobby frowns, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. He hadn’t expected that when they were going to have this argument for real, it would a) involve being in Japan, and b) that he wouldn’t understand a single word of it.

“Junhoe—“

 _No_ ,” Junhoe cuts in, his face doing some seriously impressive acrobatics. Bobby doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this angry before. “You don’t get to use that tone on me. You don’t get to pretend you’re the reasonable one, the _nice_ one. If you want to leave, you know what? _Leave_.” Before Bobby can register what’s happening, Junhoe rips the daisy ring from his finger and tosses it aside, flashing Bobby a grimace.

 

 

 

 

/

 

 

He ends up swimming anyway; it’s a good way to clear his mind. And besides, he’d spent a lot of money on that ring, he wasn’t about to let it get lost. The pool’s colder than usual, at this time of night, and Bobby finds himself sinking lower and lower until his legs brush against the ground. He lets out a frustrated cry that’s swallowed by the blue water.

He doesn’t have a clue what Junhoe had meant. And that, more than anything, else, frustrates him. How was he supposed to talk his way out of this when he didn’t even know what the conversation was about? _Leave_? Bobby? He’d been worrying that Junhoe was going to break up with him for ages, but not the other way around. That didn’t even make sense. Why would Bobby plan this trip for them if he wanted to _dump_ Junhoe?

Eventually, he has to break for air, and he comes to the surface gasping and coughing. There’s a cast shadow, long and dark against the surface of the shimmery water, and Bobby briefly thinks of death before gazing upwards. It’s Junhoe in a pair of jeans, the tee he sleeps in, and a jacket, looking unbelievably stoic.

“It’s fucking 2am, are you crazy?” Junhoe asks. _Possibly_ , Bobby wants to answer.

“Did you miss me?” Bobby blurts out. Junhoe rolls his eyes and the gesture is so intimately familiar that heart aches. If this is what the end looks like, then Bobby doesn’t want to leave this swimming pool ever. But Junhoe sits down at the edge of the pool, uncaring of the water lapping at his legs, and Bobby swims over. “I didn’t know it was already two.”

“You’re gonna catch a cold,” Junhoe points out. There’s something strange about his expression: his eyes are red and his nose sounds blocked, as if he’s been crying. Bobby’s too tired to pick out tact from honesty, so he asks, “Have you been crying?”

“Shut up,” Junhoe says, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m allergic to the bed sheets. Don’t look at me like that, c’mon.”

“Like what?”

“Like…like you’re surprised that I found out. Or like you’re scared of me or something.” Junhoe starts picking at a loose thread in one of the tears of his jeans. Bobby can’t believe this man is nearly a decade older than him sometimes. He hasn’t changed since the day they first met. So maybe it is Bobby’s fault after all.

“Can I be honest with you?” Bobby asks solemnly. Junhoe freezes and laughs to himself, making a face, before he meets Bobby’s eye and nods. “What on _earth_ were you talking about? Leaving you?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Junhoe says, “I saw the job offer. The one that came in the mail. Who uses the mail anymore these days, right? And why didn’t they send it to Hanbin’s place instead?” He laughs again, blatantly nervous. “Don’t act dumb with me. I know. It’s the offer from America. Your brother’s there, right?”

“Yeah,” Bobby says, frowning as he tries to recollect the letter, but when was the last time he’d received mail that was actually important? “So?”

“So? So I thought you were going to tell me about it,” Junhoe says, sounding as though this should be _obvious_ to Bobby, “I thought you were going to…”

“Leave you,” Bobby supplies, still confused. “But that letter—“

“Yeah, after a while I figured you weren’t going to go for it. Which only made me wonder _why_?” It comes back to Bobby in bits and pieces: that his brother’s company had an opening, that Bobby should apply, and he had, for fun, to see if he was _qualified_ , but then he’d actually been accepted, and then—

“It wasn’t a question of the job,” Bobby says slowly, watching Junhoe meaningfully, “I didn’t want to leave Seoul.”

“I know, you’re a disgusting romantic at heart,” Junhoe says, “you wouldn’t’ve gone.”

“So you’re angry because…?”

“Because you _didn’t_ go. What are you, an idiot?” Junhoe leans over and smacks Bobby right in the middle of his forehead. “Only a moron would reject an offer like that.” Bobby grimaces, rubbing his forehead with a pout, but it didn’t seem like Junhoe was done talking. “And it’s my fault. It’s what I didn’t want to happen in the first place, to hold you back. After that, you seemed to stay quiet every time we fought, or every time I tried to bring it up—“

“—you tried to bring it up?” Bobby questions, wrinkling his nose as he slicks his hair back.

“So many fucking times,” Junhoe confirms. “You just wanted to talk about something else all the time. And I got pissed. And then you stopped getting angry when I got angry.” His voice drops to a quiet low. “I thought you were getting fed up.”

 _You’re_ crazy,” Bobby points out, only to receive a splash of water in his face. “In case you haven’t noticed—“

“You’re crazy about me, yeah, I know, you’ve only sung that about a billion times.”

“And I will a billion more times, until you put it in a song—“ Junhoe slaps his hand over Bobby’s mouth, but his palm’s so _warm_ that Bobby doesn’t even bother to protest, just presses his cheek against it.

“I thought you were gonna dump me.”

“Oh,” Junhoe says. When Bobby looks at him again, his eyebrows are knitted together, like Bobby had just given him instructions in another language. And then he leans in close enough that Bobby can see the pool water reflected in his eyes, see Bobby’s own image in him. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Well,” Bobby says, “I know that _now._ ”

“I really like you, y’know that?” Junhoe adds quietly, as if this were a confession he was making for the first time, and he’s scared that Bobby might laugh at him. “I like you a lot.”

“Some might say love,” Bobby points out, letting his eyes fall shut, letting Junhoe’s warmth seep into him at whatever points of contact they have. Tomorrow he might wake up, and this might all have been a dream and he might go back to square one, so he’d rather hold on to it while he can. A feeling of peace with Junhoe.

“Don’t be a dick about it. Are you gonna get out of the water or what?”

“When I find your ring, I will.”

“I didn’t actually _throw_ it,” Junhoe admits sheepishly.

 _What_?”

“You bought it for me. I couldn’t possibly throw it.” Junhoe fishes around in his pocket and pulls out the daisy ring, and Bobby snatches it from him, just so he can slide it onto Junhoe’s finger all over again.

 

 

 

 

/

 

 

“Plus,” Bobby murmurs against Junhoe’s skin the next evening, after they’d spent the whole damn day repeating history and staying in bed, “there are a lot of other reasons I didn’t go.” Junhoe grunts, so Bobby takes that as signal to keep going. “Hanbin would cry, for example.”

This time, Junhoe snorts, and says, “I’m sure.”

“I’m serious,” Bobby insists, tugging at Junhoe’s shoulder so he lays flat on the bed, so Bobby’s treated to the full Koo eyeroll. “A _lot_ of reasons. I love the food here. My English is shit.”

“We could go, if you wanted,” Junhoe says suddenly. He slides his hand into Bobby’s hair, tugging away at the soft curls falling in his eyes. “Someday.” Bobby pauses to let Junhoe’s words sink in fully, but Junhoe makes a noise of dissent and tries to roll back over onto his side.

“We _could_ ,” Bobby says smilingly, because Junhoe’s cute when he flushes, his cheeks twitching like he isn’t sure if he wants to smile or frown. “And if you can make that decision, you can see why I chose to stay, right?”

“Because some things are important?” Junhoe hedges, already looking like he can’t believe he’s saying these words aloud.

“Because _you’re_ important,” Bobby says easily. Junhoe doesn’t say anything, but the way he kisses Bobby is answer enough.

 

 

 

 

/

 

 

 **bobby [9:22am]:** have u ever been dicked so hard u cant walk   
**khb [9:23am]:** i have to read this with my own two eyes   
**khb [9:23am]:** it’s 9am you monster   
**bobby [9:23am]:** share my happiness ok   
**khb [9:24am]:** is junhoe dead?   
**bobby [9:24am]:** no just blissed out ;)   
**bobby [9:24am]:** im that good ;)   
_khb last seen 9:25am_

**Author's Note:**

> i. blame moon  
> ii. blame moon for asking for something based off [this art](https://twitter.com/rabbitfool1/status/756532182433214466)


End file.
